It's All Been Leading Up To This
by missbip0lar
Summary: Dean and Castiel make up for lost time after Purgatory. One-shot, PWP with feelings.


**It's All Been Leading Up To This.**

**missbip0lar**

**Season 7 spoilers, set during season 8, some time after Cas' return from Purgatory.**

**I don't own Dean, Castiel, Sam, or the Supernatural universe. All that is Kripke's.**

_This has to be some sort of blasphemy, _Dean thinks, not for the first time, as an Angel of the Lord – _his_ angel – ruts himself desperately against Dean's thigh. Cas' tongue is mapping out every crevice of his mouth, and each deep, gravelly noise that Cas groans out shoots straight to Dean's junk.

But, fuck, Dean would be lying if he said he hasn't wanted this for way too long. The dreams in the beginning – right after Hell – were bad enough; dreams of bright, Heavenly light surrounding him, pulling him from The Pit. He used to wake feeling warm, with a tightness in his chest that he couldn't quite place, after those dreams. Then, months later, after Castiel – Angel of the Lord – became simply Cas – friend, ally, and nerdy angel all in one – the dreams changed. Visions of blue eyes, messy hair, calloused hands touching him in ways no woman ever had, haunted Dean. He would wake covered in sweat, his libido already well past the point of no return. And he tried – he _always fucking tried _to not think of Cas while he jerked himself off in the motel bathrooms on those nights. God, did Dean try; he thought of every other woman he's ever been attracted to – Jo, Lisa, Anna, that goddamn girl from the monster movie case, even fucking Cassie. But then, somehow, it was always Cassie that brought Dean's thoughts back to Cas. Maybe it was the similarity in names, Dean could never be certain, but whatever it was, Dean would be right back in that dream. And it would be _Cas – _not Cassie or Dean – that was stroking him, knowing just how and when to twist his hand in just the right way to send Dean toppling over the edge. Those orgasms were always crazy intense, leaving Dean panting and sweating on the bathroom floor. It just got worse and worse after that; fantasies of Cas began to plague his waking thoughts as well as his dreams. It got to the point where he was locking himself in public bathrooms multiple times a day to attempt to hide an embarrassing reaction to the angel's proximity.

And then the whole Leviathan thing happened. Watching Cas – _his fucking angel – _walk into that water and not resurface… it was Dean's breaking point. He shut down. He did what he could for Sammy, but other than that, Dean just simply did not care. And then Bobby… Then back to Cas – or rather, "Emmanuel." But he still wasn't Cas. He wasn't the angel that Dean dreamt about – still – every single shitty night. Then Cas out of his goddamned mind, which was irritating and endearing all at once. But then they both stood too close to exploding Dick.

Things happened in Purgatory. Finding Cas amidst all the monsters and bullshit proved damn near impossible. Dean prayed to his angel every night in the hopes that Cas would hear him and come to him. But it was useless. He even went so far as to tell Cas in prayer about the dreams he'd been having, and all the things he'd like to do to the angel if he ever found him. And find him Dean did. But never once did either of them broach the subject of the admissions Dean made in prayer, though Dean knew that Cas had heard him and knew what Dean was willing to do for him. Instead, Dean and Castiel spent the down time in Purgatory, when Benny wasn't around, trying to salvage what was left of their friendship – of their profound bond. Cas watched over Dean every night while he got his four hours. One night, just as Dean was drifting off into a restless sleep, Cas spoke softly to him, in a tone Benny wouldn't hear.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. "I've hurt you, and I've betrayed your brother. I truly don't know how I will ever be able to atone for that."

"You fixed Sam," Dean argued sleepily. "You're forgiven, dude. Let's just get the hell out of here and go home."

"Of course, Dean."

But something happened at the portal. Cas stayed, to face the monsters and Leviathan and that desolate wasteland alone.

Dean was sure he'd never see the angel again.

_He's fucking back now, though, _Dean thinks in the here and now, his back pressed against the door of the motel room he and Sam are sharing for this hunt. Cas' lips and tongue and teeth are marking Dean's neck with an awesome enthusiasm that is all Castiel, and Dean's been reduced to a virginal teenage girl, if the way he's arching and moaning are any indication.

It takes Dean's brain a few seconds to register the fingers deftly unbuttoning his jeans and slipping inside his boxers. The next thing he knows, Cas is –

_Gripping me tight – holy fuck_

- wrapped around his dick, pulling and twisting exactly the way Dean does it to himself. Cas detaches his mouth from Dean's neck and kisses him again. And dear sweet God, if Meg wasn't telling the truth – Cas is one hell of a kisser. Any reservations Dean's had about kissing a dude have gone right out the window. Or hell, maybe it's just 'cause it's Cas. But Dean knows for a fact that kissing Cas is his new favorite thing.

Cas pulls away, and for a second, he's just staring at Dean with that intensity that makes Dean feel like he's under a microscope. But the look just makes his dick jump in the confines of his jeans, his anticipation becoming an almost tangible thing. He wants this, needs it if he's being honest with himself. Cas drops to his knees before Dean, pulling denim and cotton down to pool around Dean's ankles as he goes. His hands trail up Dean's bare legs, wracking him with uncontrollable shivers, to rest on his hips. Cas looks a little uncertain, almost like he doesn't know what to do next. Dean wants to tell him, show him, guide him, but Cas is a fucking _Angel of the Lord, _and this has to be at least thirty kinds of sinful for him. Dean doesn't want to be the reason Cas falls if Cas doesn't want it for himself.

Cas doesn't take his eyes off of Dean's as he folds his hands around Dean's cock – _the fucking prayer position – _and lightly runs the tip of his tongue over the slit to catch a drop of moisture beaded there. Dean can't take it – the anticipation, the feeling of _fucking finally!, _or the concern that Heaven will never forgive Castiel for this – but just as he opens his mouth to say something (he's not even sure what _to_ say, honestly), Cas speaks first.

"I don't care, Dean. I don't care if Heaven won't take me back."

He's still in the prayer position, hands closed around Dean's length almost in supplication, the tip resting on Cas' full lower lip. He opens his mouth, inviting Dean inside, and well, Dean's never been very good at denying such an open invitation. Cas' eyes slide closed as Dean's hand finds its way into dark, messy hair and guides Cas forward.

Castiel's mouth is hot and wet, his perfect lips stretched wide to accommodate Dean's girth. Cas has moved his hands to the swell of Dean's ass, and he's pushing Dean in even further, until he can feel his dick bump against the back of the angel's throat. Cas swallows around him, encouraging Dean to thrust, and Dean can't help but wonder where in the hell Cas learned how to do this. It's like the guy has a Ph.D in giving head, and Dean couldn't be more grateful. So he thrusts shallowly at first, further encouraged when Cas' low hum of approval sends vibrations through his entire groin. Dean thrusts deeper, his hand in Cas' hair still guiding the angel's head.

_There has to be a special place in hell for people like me, _Dean thinks, _for people who would gladly fuck an angel's face and love every single second of it._

"Ah, fuck, Cas," he grunts, Cas swallowing around his cock yet again. "You keep that up and this will be over before it's even really gotten started."

Dean's amazed that he can still form coherent sentences, but he's even more amazed that Cas is standing again now, at eye level with Dean, pushing him across the room to the bed furthest from the door and mojo-ing their clothes off and away. He pushes Dean back, coaxing him to lie down while Cas straddles his hips, and Dean is suddenly getting a damn good look at what his angel looks like naked. His face and neck and chest are flushed red with need, his eyes are glazed and half-lidded, the startling blue of his eyes a mere thin line encircling lust-blown pupils. And there, standing proud and most likely painfully hard and desperate for release, is the only cock Dean's mouth has ever actively watered for. He takes it in his hand and strokes Cas lightly, experimentally, in an attempt to discover how his angel likes to be touched there. Dean sits up and kisses Cas again, his free hand ghosting down Cas' spine to the crease of his ass. Castiel's breath catches in his throat as Dean's middle finger finds his tight, puckered rim and puts the barest amount of pressure there.

"This what you want, Cas?" he asks quietly against a stubbled jaw.

"Yes, Dean," Cas breathes in return, his breath hot on Dean's ear.

"Isn't this a sin?" Dean whispers. "A man lying with a man and all that?"

"What you and I share isn't a sin," Castiel replies shakily. "This is just another form of worship."

Dean knows he must be gaping at Cas like a fool right now, but he's never heard sex described quite like that before.

"We, uh, we'll need some kind of lube," Dean stammers lamely, but Cas is already rummaging through the small duffel bag beside them on the bed. He sits back up with a small bottle of gun oil in his hand and offers it to Dean.

"Will this suffice?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean huffs out affectionately in return. "This should be fine."

While he coats his fingers with the stuff, Dean wonders at how easy all this is with Cas, how with any other dude, this would be awkward as hell. The first finger enters Castiel slowly, and Dean watches his face for any signs of discomfort. But Cas' face is lax, his eyes closed, as he sighs in contentment. Dean slips a second finger in beside the first, slowly opening Cas up enough to take him. He curls his fingers in search of that hidden little treasure trove of sensation Dean knows so well in his own body. Cas gasps and arches, his dick jumping in Dean's hand, and Dean knows he's found it. He strikes that same spot again and again with more force, reveling in the way this angel, this holy fucking being that's been around for millennia, writhes atop him, pushing back against the digits inside him. Cas' moans could easily make a porn star jealous, that voice that's like gravel vibrating through his whole body, seemingly coming out of every pore.

Dean has three fingers buried inside Cas now, and though he's fairly sure Cas could take him just like this, Dean's enjoying prolonging the process too much to stop. Cas' dick is leaking sticky pre-release over Dean's hand, so much in fact that every slip and slide of Dean's hand along Cas' length is producing lewd, wet sounds in the relative silence of the dark motel room.

"I believe I'm ready for you now, Dean," Cas manages breathlessly.

So Dean reluctantly pulls his fingers free and slicks himself up with the gun oil. He lines the tip of his erection up with Cas' stretched entrance and guides the angel's hips down, sinking into tight, unforgiving heat. He falls back on the bed, panting, as he adjusts to Cas. He's like a sweltering vice around Dean, unconsciously clenching to squeeze Dean's cock even tighter.

_Fuck, I'm never gunna last like this._

The moment Cas starts to move his hips is the moment Dean Winchester knows he's been ruined for anyone else – ever. And _Cas._ The man looks positively wrecked, his head thrown back, his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving with effort to take in oxygen that he doesn't even technically need. Dean grasps Cas' sharp little hipbones in his hands and grinds up into the angel, pulling a broken cry from Cas' throat. And then Dean just can't help himself; he's thrusting wildly into Castiel, saying things he never thought he would ever say to his angel.

"Nngh – fuck, Cas, yeah, you like that? Ride my dick like you fuckin' mean it, angel. Jesus Christ, Cas – you feel so fuckin' good I can't stand it. Wanna fuck you like this all the time, angel. Meant it when I said I needed you."

Dean knows he needs to shut the fuck up, lest he say something he doesn't mean to say and turn this into the ultimate chick flick moment.

Cas is practically shouting now, repeating "Dean! Oh, Dean…" over and over again like a fucking prayer, and the bed is creaking and slamming against the wall with every move they make. They're sweating and grunting and groaning, their bodies moving in perfect unison as they both search for release.

Cas places his hand just below Dean's sternum, where Cas has said his soul resides, and puts Dean's hand on the same spot on his own body. Dean can feel it, the angel's Grace, warm as it washes over him, and suddenly it's not just sex anymore. They're connected now, more than just where their bodies are connected. Dean feels Cas in his soul, feels where he's buried balls-deep in his angel, feels that same tightness in his chest that he felt with the initial dreams. Cas bends down, bringing his forehead to Dean's, his hips' movements never ceasing.

Dean wraps his arm around Cas and flips them, so he's hovering above his angel, taking in the vision of Castiel – beautiful, holy Castiel – spread out beneath him. Dean re-enters him swiftly, lifting Cas' legs up over his shoulders to allow deeper penetration. Cas' moans are deep and throaty, full of the bliss of being filled. Dean wonders for a moment what it might be like the other way around, feeling his angel filling _him _up. He's baffled, quite frankly, that he's lasted this long inside Cas, especially with whatever mojo Cas worked on his soul. But now the lava of impending release is pooling strong in his gut, knows he's quickly approaching the finish line, but he wants to get Cas there first.

"C'mon, Cas," he says, taking the angel's erection in his hand and pumping. "I got you, angel. Come for me."

Castiel moves with him, rolling his hips to simultaneously take Dean deeper and buck into the fist encircling him. Dean just watches, transfixed, as Cas' back arches impossibly high off the bed and he chokes on what would positively be a scream if Dean wasn't currently leaning forward to claim his angel's mouth. Cas is back to clenching around him, and he's close, Dean can feel it.

Cas breaks off their kiss to warn Dean, "Cover your eyes!"

Cas' eyes are glowing in a way Dean recognizes, and he reluctantly squeezes his own eyes shut to protect himself from the angel's Grace. But still his thrusts don't stop, and his hand keeps stroking, hoping to bring Castiel to completion.

With a final shout of Dean's name, Cas releases, the light from his expanding Grace illuminating the whole room; Dean can see the light from behind his eyelids at the same time he feels Cas' come spurt out over his hand and both their chests, and his insides clench impossibly tighter and hotter to milk Dean of his own orgasm. They're coming together now, Cas' fingernails raking down Dean's back while Dean buries his head into the angel's neck and groans through his release.

He collapses afterward, not bothering to move off of Castiel. He turns his head toward his angel, who's looking back at him, staring as intently as always. Dean's hand comes up to cup Cas' cheek, and then they're kissing again, slowly, with none of the desperation and need that preceded this. Dean rolls to the side, off Cas and onto the mattress beside him. The duffel bag that was there when they started all this has fallen to the floor, its contents strewn across the floor. Dean pulls the scratchy comforter over them, and Cas can't seem to stop kissing him.

"I've always wanted this," the angel confesses quietly. "From the moment I touched your soul in Hell, I knew I would someday want you like this. I'm so glad you wanted me, too."

Before Dean can reply, there's the sound of a key in the door, and then Sam is walking in. He only gets a few steps inside the motel room before he notices Dean and Cas under the covers together. He huffs out an exaggerated breath, mumbles "About fucking time," and tosses the room key on the table by the door before skulking back out – presumably to get his own room.

"So," Dean murmurs against Cas' lips. "When do you think you'll be ready for round two? We have lots of time to make up for."

Cas just chuckles and kisses Dean again, his lips and tongue promising rounds two and three, and even more if they can manage it.

It's all been leading up to this, Dean realizes. All the years they've known each other, all the shit they've been through – together as well as apart – has all been leading up to them, together; hunting things, saving people. Castiel is family now, more than he ever was before. And if Heaven wants to kick him out for good, they will deal with that when the time comes.

_**Fin.**_

-oOo-

**The line, "I don't care if Heaven won't take me back" comes from the song _Angel With A Shotgun _by The Cab. I obviously don't own those lyrics, either.**


End file.
